Moment With A Shrink
by Nena
Summary: Implied 1xR, though there is no interaction. Heero is being interviewed by a shrink who can't seem to crack through his shell, until...


AN: I do not own Gundam Wing. This contains spiritual references, and has no interaction between Heero and Relena, although it is implied that they have some sort of relationship.

**_Moment With A Shrink_**

"What are you, Heero?"

He does not take his eyes off of the table, his pupils dilating and widening in an oblivious synchronization of wonder and apathy. He does not blink, but only stares transfixed by some imaginary line on the table. He cannot focus on any pigment of color or intensity of light that scatteres through his retinas, so absorbed in his thoughts as he is.

"Human."

She cocks her head to the side and notes something on her clipboard, her black-framed glasses resting on the tip of her nose. She eyes him incredulously and purses her lip.

"I am nothing." He states, lifting a long, muscled, tanned and veined arm to rest his chin between his thumb and index finger. "I am simply here."

"That must constitute something, Heero. That you are here."

He smirks as his dry, wide eyes continued to stare at the table. His head leans backward and then forward again as a snort leaves his nose. His hand drops back to his side, next to the dead wood of his dead chair in this dead, miserable little room. Beneath the gray walls there lined along it an open window of observation that was meant to be an innocent secret. Meant to make him better, to make people better. To bring understanding and enlightenment to soldiers like himself.

"Whether or not you believe in a deity, or a higher power, you must acknowledge that you do in fact exist. That you are aware that you are here at all proves that you exist for a purpose."

What they did not understand was that there was no one like himself, and that there never would be. Zero had proven that to him. Epyon had, as well. And J, and Odin. The list could go on and on like the blazing gases that licked the sun in their brilliant fire, never stopping to rest. Like stars refusing to give up their light far after they had burned away and vanished, so would his necessity. He would always be needed to stop something. He would always be needed as a hero to most. And he knew, even as he sat in this sad little chair being observed by a sad little shrink, that _she_ would always need him as well.

Yes, Relena would always need him. She would always want him, despite everything.

"Do not be so quick to judge me because I am a soldier." He states bluntly, finally taking his eyes off of the table to look up at her and leave her breathless with his perception of everything in the room. Including her very spirit. "I do believe in God. I have had far too many second chances to think it all a mere coincidence."

"And what do you think God is doing?"

He looks up at the ceiling, the muscles along his neck straining slightly and revealing his Adam's Apple. He leaves his arms crossed over his stomach and dimly regards the presences outside of his room staring in with interested faces. Some with confusion, others with genuine curiosity. One with empathy. The one with the light blue eyes.

"Wondering why His love isn't enough for us to want to change. Wondering why we won't love Him back."

He starts to count the patterns along the ceiling and twists his head around oddly to reach other portions of the walls. She was boring him.

"Is that what you think you are doing? By targeting terrorist threats against the Vice Foreign Minister's life, you are listening to God?"

He slams his chair back down and penetrates her face with his dark blue orbs, anger and desperation clearly shining through the black and blue of their aquatic depths.

"I am doing the only thing that I can. The only thing I am good for. I do not kill innocent purposely or without regard. If I kill, it is because I have to."

"If I am anything, it is because she has made me something." He reaches across the table and invades her space closely, his face a breath away from hers. She hesitates to call for help, but decides that there would be no use for it anyway.

"If I am happy, it is because she has made me happy. If I am beautiful it is because she has made me beautiful. If I am strong, if I am a man…" His eyes glance over her face and between her two eyes, shining. "It is because she has made me a man. Every good thing about me I have learned from holding her in my arms. I have learned it from watching her. I have seen God in her, and that is how I know that He is real. That is why I can believe in a saviour, in Jesus Christ. It is because she_ is_ Jesus Christ to me."

He sinks back down into his chair and sighs. "I do not expect you to understand."

She sits still, stunned for a few moments, before glancing nervously toward the window that was meant to be a secret. She starts to sit up with her hand on the armrest, but then stubbornly falls back into the seat with her clipboard and glasses and pen. He does not respond, but stares blankly at his intertwined fingers.

"You love her." She states simply, staring into his captivating eyes as they seem to ignore her. Something in her feels so very unaware, so naïve at the truth in him and the wisdom he contains. He does not react to her the way she wishes he would, the way she suspects would be good for him to do every once in a while. He is calm and collected and hard as stone, even when admitting tenderness.

"Yes." He whispers, staring longingly into his hands. And she leaves the room.


End file.
